


Dénouement

by Wildgoosery



Series: A Night at the Theater [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: M/M, Minor Mai/Zuko, Multi, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-24
Updated: 2008-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28363923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildgoosery/pseuds/Wildgoosery
Summary: Zuko wondered, for a fleeting moment, if it would always be like this; if he would always be chasing after something that might ruin him.
Relationships: Jet/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: A Night at the Theater [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077176
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	Dénouement

The city was brighter than Zuko remembered — as if the walls had been lowered, the buildings moved farther apart. But of course, it wasn't the city that had changed, but the people living inside it. They were free to speak of whatever they wanted, now; to move as they liked between the rings and forget their documents at home. The Dai Li wouldn't trouble them anymore — the Earth King's first act, upon returning from his travels, was to dismantle what remained of Long Feng's empire.

Zuko had asked to see him, locked in an iron box deep within the palace dungeon. He'd wanted to look into the eyes of the man who'd sold his city for a chance at the throne. Or at least, that's what he'd told the Earth King. He'd tried that explanation with his friends, as well, but Aang had guessed the truth of it in the end.

"What are you going to do to him?" Aang asked, brows drawn so close together that they wrinkled his tattoo.

"Nothing," Zuko had said.

Aang had crossed his arms and frowned. "Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"Revenge doesn't help anything."

Zuko had smiled a little at that. "Haven't we had this conversation before?"

"I'm serious."

"I know." Zuko had sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "It's what Jet would have wanted."

"He wanted a lot of things that weren't a good idea."

"That's true," Zuko admitted, and thought of how strange this conversation was. They spoke as if remembering an old friend, but Zuko had hardly known him.

Long Feng was a small, broken man in a dark cell, and his eyes held no answers. Seeing him in person only made the play — his friends' story —harder to deny. And he wanted to deny it. Needed to, maybe.

Zuko had left as quickly as decorum would allow. 

He blamed the city for his unsettled mood. This was his first visit since the war had ended, and the sight and smell and sound of it breathed life into old memories, made the wounds sting fresh and raw. Flying in over Full Moon Bay on Appa's back, Zuko had spotted one of the ferries as it pulled out of the harbor, and felt a sudden tightness in his chest.

Ba Sing Se was quietest in the afternoon, when the late summer sun was high in the sky and waves of heat rose off the cobbled streets. Shops closed their doors, shutters were pulled over windows, and the city waited for the air to cool again. Zuko often went for walks in those lost hours. The heat didn't bother him, and he liked exploring the empty streets, his footsteps echoing down narrow alleyways and his shadow swallowed up by long green robes. Sometimes his skin would prickle, and he'd turn sharply to peer through dim windows and scan the jagged edges of rooftops, convinced he was being watched. Maybe hoping that he was.

This afternoon was no different from any of the others. He walked for miles along hot paving stones, through markets and alleyways and posh apartment courtyards, anonymous in his commoner's clothes. And as the sun slipped behind the taller buildings, he broke from the momentum of the city's paths to circled back around to the upper ring. The Jasmine Dragon would have reopened its doors by now, and Uncle would miss him in the kitchen.

Zuko was surprised to find the shop closed, but he didn't give much thought as to what the reason might be. Uncle was lax about schedules and sleepy in the afternoon. Maybe he'd decided to take a nap and had overslept. The others should have woken him, but maybe they were busy. Maybe they'd gone out, as Zuko had.

The heavy doors weren't locked. They swung easily aside on well-oiled hinges when Zuko pushed. Even with the lamps lit, it was much dimmer inside. Zuko closed the door behind him again to keep the hot air out, then stood with his back to the smooth, carved wood, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

Mai and Katara were sitting together at one of the tables, cups of tea steaming in their hands. That wasn't unusual — after a rough start, they'd grown fond of each other. The unusual thing was that someone was sitting with them, his back to the door. A boy with shaggy brown hair that fell past his shoulders, wearing mismatched armor. Something glinted in the lamplight, next to the boy's leg.

Hooked swords.

Zuko leaned against the door frame as the bottom dropped out of his stomach.

Mai spoke first, her voice a perfect monotone. "There's someone here to see you."

The boy pushed his chair back from the table and stood. He picked up the swords and carefully hung them from his belt with smooth practiced movements. Only then did he turn around.

The raw hatred on his face pressed the breath from Zuko's lungs.

"Jet." Zuko took a step forward, then stopped. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. "You're alive."

Jet regarded him silently for a long, airless moment. Then he shook his head, once, and turned to speak to Katara. "You were right," he said.

Zuko took another step. Jet's body tensed, hands jerking toward the blades at his waist. "Don't," Jet snapped. "Don't move."

"Jet-"

"Don't talk, either." Jet's eyes were on the floor, now, and his hands curled info fists. "Thanks for the tea," he said, the words clipped. Then he turned again and walked toward the back of the shop, his steps jerky and uneven, as if he was trying not to run. Zuko heard the kitchen door clatter open on its track.

"He came looking for you," said Katara softly once he was gone. "He said he needed to be sure."

Zuko was still staring at the back of the shop. He didn't notice Mai had come up beside him until she spoke. "Was that _him_?" she asked, quiet enough that only he would hear. "From the ferry."

He told Mai everything. "Yeah," Zuko murmured. "That was him."

He felt her hand on his back. "You shouldn't let him leave like that."

Zuko glanced back at her. Her expression was smooth, be he could see the strain at the edges of her mouth. "Mai…"

"We'll talk about it later," she said. "Go."

Zuko surged forward like an arrow released, through the doors and the small kitchen and out into the alleyway, giving in to the long-familiar urgency of pursuit. He wondered, for a fleeting moment, if it would always be like this; if he would always be chasing after something that might ruin him.

Jet hadn't gotten far. Zuko found him crouched behind a dumpster, his head in his hands.

The long green robes made anything but standing awkward, but Zuko knelt beside him, the cobbles of the alleyway sharp against his knees. "Jet," he said again, reaching for the arm that covered the other boy's face.

"Don't you fucking touch me," Jet snarled.

Zuko let his hand drop. "I'm sorry," he murmured. Jet didn't answer, and Zuko swallowed hard, hating that things had gone this way. That it was too late to change them. "Jet, I'm sorry."

"Fuck you."

"I didn't mean…" He swallowed again. His throat was so dry. None of this was how he'd imagined it might be. "I didn't know they'd do that to you."

Jet looked up, then, and Zuko wished that he hadn't. "You don't know anything, you fucking prick. You don't know a fucking thing about me."

"Jet-" Zuko reached out to touch his shoulder, and this time the other boy slapped it away.

"I don't care if you _are_ the Fire Lord," Jet spat, the title sounding like a curse. "I'll cut your fucking throat if you ever touch me again."

Zuko sat on his heels, his hands splayed across his thighs, and watched the other boy. Jet had covered his face again, his fingers tangled in hair that was even wilder than Zuko remembered. His shoulders were shaking.

"I'm glad you're all right," Zuko whispered.

"All right? _All right_?" Jet's head was still bowed, but he was shouting. "Do I look _all right_ to you? You think you can sit there and-" He broke off, his words dissolving in a dry, hacking cough. He pressed a hand against his chest, struggling to breathe.

Zuko bit his lip and waited until the coughing subsided. "You should have Katara look at that," he said.

Jet wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. "That's what she said," he muttered. Some of the venom had drained from his voice. Now he just sounded tired. He sighed and lifted his head, letting it fall back until it rested against the wall behind him. "So what…you're friends with her now or something?"

"Yeah."

"Figures." Jet's eyes were on the sliver of sky that could he seen between the buildings. "She told me about you. About what you did."

Zuko's heart quickened. "All of it?"

"The big shit, anyway." Jet shook his head with a bitter chuckle. "She likes you a helluva lot more than me."

"I'm not the same person you knew," Zuko said.

"The person I knew was a fucking lie," Jet snapped.

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing, asshole. I'm not going to make it that easy for you."

"That's fine," said Zuko. "Nothing's ever easy for me."

Jet frowned, more suspicious than angry. "I guess not," he said slowly, and Zuko wondered exactly which details Katara and Mai had told him.

Zuko pushed himself to his feet. He knew his robes were probably filthy, but he ignored that for now. His eyes were on the other boy. "Come on," he said, and held out a hand.

Jet glared up at him. "Why the _hell_ would I want to go anywhere with you?"

"Katara's probably worried," Zuko went on as if Jet hadn't said anything, his hand still outstretched.

"I don't need your help."

"A drink, then," said Zuko. "I owe you a drink at least, right?"

"You owe me a whole fucking bar."

Zuko felt a smile pull at his lips, but fought to stay stone-faced. "Have to start somewhere."

Jet didn't take Zuko's hand as he got to his feet, leaning a little against the dumpster for support. "One drink," he said. "And then I'm leaving."

"All right."

"You're lucky I didn't just kill you."

"I know."

Jet punched him hard in the shoulder. "Don't fucking patronize me."

"I wouldn't," said Zuko, and he couldn't keep from smiling now as he rubbed the sore spot on his arm.

They walked most of the way back in silence. As they neared the kitchen entrance, Jet said, "That other girl…Mai? She's with you?"

"Yeah," said Zuko, his hand already on the sliding door.

"And she knows?"

Zuko didn't have to ask what Jet meant. "Yeah," he said, his ears burning.

"Guess this'll be interesting, at least."

"That's true," said Zuko.

They stepped inside. The kitchen had a slate floor and a large stone hearth. Several iron kettles hung over the fire, steam pouring from their spouts. Jet looked around, wary but obviously curious.

"One drink," Jet said again. "And just you."

Zuko paused at the doors to the dining room and looked back over his shoulder. "What?" he asked, a little stupidly.

"And then I'm leaving."

"All right."

Shelves of tea ran along the walls, from waist height all the way up to the ceiling. Zuko walked along them, eyes flickering over the labels, and then pulled a pale blue porcelain pot down from a high corner. "I hope Baijiu is okay," he said.

"It's free booze, it's fine."

Zuko snuck sideways looks at Jet as he bustled around the kitchen, seeking out Uncle's most beautiful green jade cups, an intricately painted lacquer tray, a box of sweets imported from Kyoshi. Jet watched him in unreadable silence as he carefully laid all of this out on the small wooden table where Uncle did his accounts. Zuko had done very little hosting in his life, but we was raised in a palace. He knew the polite way to place the cups, how to gesture for Jet to take a seat, how to hold his sleeve as he poured. 

Jet didn't say a thing, but he sat without argument, and stayed there when Zuko took his place across from him. And once his cup was filled, Jet picked it up and sketched a toast before knocking it back in one gulp.

"Hell," Jet said. "That's good shit."

"A gift from the Earth King," Zuko said. 

Jet only hummed vague acknowledgement. But when Zuko poured him another cup, he drank it in smaller sips.

Some time passed like this in mostly-comfortable silence. Zuko could hear muffled voices from the dining room, but the doors stayed close. The only other sound was the rustle of fabric and the click of jade on the tabletop; of porcelain on the tray.

Zuko chewed on his lip, his eyes on Jet's long fingers where they curled around the small green cup. "There's one other thing I can offer," he said.

He could see Jet's hand tense. "Yeah? What's that?"

"I can get you ten minutes alone with Long Feng."

Jet laughed. It was harsher than the laugh Zuko remembered, but he was glad to hear it all the same. "That might be worth something."

"I'm sorry," Zuko said again. The wrong thing, but he couldn't swallow it back.

Jet took a long time to reply. He rubbed his thumb along the rim of his cup in taut circles. "We're a long way past sorry."

"I know."

"Why are you _smiling_ ," Jet snapped.

A wave of heat crashed across Zuko's cheeks. "I'm sorry," he said again, which made him blush even harder. What the hell was _wrong_ with him? "Jet, I'm sorry, I don't..."

"Is this _funny_ to you?"

"No," Zuko said, "no, never, it's..." He pressed his face into both his hands, his elbows on the table. "I thought I'd stopped hoping for this," he said against his palms.

"For what?"

Zuko pushed his hands up into his hair. "Do you want me to say it?" 

"No," Jet said, a steel door closing. "I don't."

"Okay."

"I'm not here for you."

"I know."

Zuko couldn't bring himself to look at Jet's face again; maybe didn't want to see what he would find there. He watched Jet's hands instead, as Jet turned the empty cup between his fingers. 

"I'm not here for _you_ ," Jet said again, tight with bitterness. Heavy with a history that Zuko barely understood. And Zuko remembered how Jet had sounded all those months ago, screaming at him in a lower-ring tea room. Not this, but close to it, and Zuko braced himself for the clatter of an overturned chair. He wondered, with a sick feeling in his stomach, if Jet would just storm out this time, or if he'd be forced to fight again. If this was all another closed circle in a city built from them. 

But Jet stayed in his chair. He placed his cup on the tray between them, then knit his restless hands together. 

Zuko filled his cup again, each movement flawlessly proper and poised. The manners of royalty; of serving a king.

"Thanks," Jet said, very quiet, as he lifted the cup to his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the original version of this in 2008, but when I was importing all my other ATLA fic, I held off on including this one (and the next, which will follow shortly.) Part of it was that something about it wasn't quite working, and some revision helped with that. But also, I think I worried it was too "easy." 
> 
> Friends, it's 2020. And I've decided that maybe allowing a couple of idiot boys to have some peace after a harrowing war isn't the worst thing in the world.


End file.
